“Wolfung,” said Abrogastes.
“Milord?” asked Otto.
“We will come soon for the tribute,” said Abrogastes.
“I think you will not find it, milord,” said Otto.
“We shall see,” said Abrogastes.
“Kill him, now, while you may,” urged a man.
“He may not,” said Otto, “for I am come here for a challenge, in which matter I have been successful.”
“I shall not detain you,” said Abrogastes.
Otto nodded.
“Beware in the future, Wolfung,” said Abrogastes.
“And may you beware as well, milord,” said Otto.
“He has the audacity of an Otung!” cried a man.
“See that the tribute is ready, when it is called for,” said Abrogastes.
“Do not delay, milord,” said a man. “Time is short. Cut off the head of the slave.”
“Cut off her head!” cried others.
“No!” cried Julian, loudly, stepping out from behind Otto.
“‘No’?” inquired Abrogastes.
“I will take her,” said Julian.
“You, a thrall?” asked Abrogastes. “A thrall can own nothing.”
“I am not a thrall, milord,” said Julian, firmly.
Abrogastes looked to Otto.
“He is a free man,” said Otto.
“I am a citizen of the empire,” said Julian.
“Kill him!” said a man, drawing his knife.
“You are here in some ambassadorial capacity?” inquired Abrogastes.
“No, milord,” said Julian.
“And how have you been employed here?” inquired Abrogastes.
“I have been tending pigs, milord,” said Julian.
This announcement was greeted with laughter from the Drisriaks.
“It is fitting,” said a man, “that those of the empire, whom we see fit to spare, should tend our pigs.”
There was more laughter.
“You are filthy, and barefoot, and in rags,” said Abrogastes.
Julian went to kneel in the mud, next to the distraught Gerune. He lifted her head in his hands. He looked into her eyes, which were bright with terror, and tears.
“You are well curved,” he said.
“Dog!” she wept.
“Do you want to die?” he asked.
“What does it matter?” she asked.
“You are right,” said Julian. “You are only a slave. What does it matter?”
She regarded him, startled.
“You are right,” he said. “It does not matter.”
Tears sprang anew to her eyes.
“Put the slut at the block!” said a man.
The slave looked wildly about.
“Do you want to die?” Julian asked her.
“No,” she said.
“Speak more clearly,” said Julian.
“I do not want to die,” she said.
“Speak more clearly,” he said, angrily.
“I do not want to die-Master,” she said.
“Ah,” said men.
“It seems the slut learns quickly,” said a man.
“They all do,” said another.
Julian then stood up, and stepped back from the slave. “Kneel,” he said.
The slave, bound, straggled to her knees.
“Excellent,” said men.
“You are well curved,” said Julian.
“Thank you, Master,” she said.
There was laughter.
“Here,” said Julian, pointing to his feet.
“Go, stupid slave, to his feet, and kiss them,” said a man.
The slave, on her knees, moved to Julian, and put down her head, to his feet.
“Aii!” said men.
She then straightened up, and regarded Julian with awe.
“I will take her,” he said.
“Give her to him,” men urged Abrogastes. “Let her belong to a tender of pigs!”
“She is yours,” said Abrogastes.
“Thank you, milord,” said Julian.
The slave collapsed to the mud near the feet of Julian.
“I thought I knew her,” said Abrogastes. “I thought that she would require a strong and unflinching master. I see that any master will do.”
“As you say, milord,” said Julian.
Outside now there was a piercing whistle. It was the signal for returning to the ships.
“You,” said Julian, pointing to the fellow who had, when he had learned that Julian was of the empire, drawn his knife. “Give me your knife,” said Julian.
The man looked at Abrogastes.
“Do it,” said Abrogastes.
Julian took the knife and then crouched beside the slave.
“Master?” she asked.
“You are Gerune,” he said, naming her.
“Yes, Master,” she said.
He reached to her hair.
“What are you going to do, Master?” she asked.
“You have long, fine hair,” he said.
It was blond hair, in two long, thick braids, which, had she stood, would have fallen to the back of her knees. It had never been cut.
“Master?” she asked.
“A slave,” he said, “does not need such long, fine hair.”
“Master?” she asked.
“Oh!” she wept, for he, gathering the hair together, in handfuls, cut it from her, close to the head.
Then he stood up, and returned the knife to the warrior, who sheathed it.
Gerune wept.
“Such hair,” said Julian, “was more fit for a princess than a slave.”
She put down her head, sobbing.
“You are now more fit for lowly tasks,” said Julian.
“Yes, Master,” she wept.
Abrogastes stepped from the dais.
Abrogastes made a sign to the workman, he who had wielded the adz, and to two warriors.
“Remove the block and tray,” he said.
“Yes, milord,” they said.
The whistle sounded once more outside.
Abrogastes looked about himself. He looked back to the dais. He regarded the trampled, muddied earth. He regarded the pools of blood, the broken reeds, the footprints. He recalled the vengeances, the slaughters and enslavements of the afternoon. He regarded the workman, his leather apron, and his arms, drenched with blood. He looked back to where Ortog had fallen. He looked down, at the bound slave.
He then looked at this men.
“It is good!” he said.
He then, followed by his men, left the tent.
Otto followed the others out.
Julian, too, a moment later, left the tent. He carried a bound slave.
“She is unconscious,” said Otto, considering the slave in Julian’s arm, her head back.
“It is just as well,” said Julian.
“She should give you much pleasure at the foot of the couch,” said Otto, regarding the slave.
“I will see to it,” said Julian.
The hoverer of Abrogastes was not far away, only some yards from the tent.
Filchen scurried about, disturbed. Birds rose into the air, like protesting leaves in the wind. But, in a few moments, the birds descended again. And soon the filchen, too, wary, their tiny ears upright, their small, round eyes bright, creeping back, returned to their feeding.
Julian looked up at the sky.
“I think it would be well to conceal ourselves,” said Otto, “until we know the nature of the new arrivals.”
“The woods?” said Julian.
“Yes,” said Otto.
They were now quite near the hoverer of Abrogastes.
Already the lord of the Drisriaks was within the hoverer, his hands on the gunwales.
“The tent, milord?” a man asked of Abrogastes.
“Burn it,” said Abrogastes.
A torch was lit.
“We have found golden chains!” said one of the Drisriaks to Abrogastes.
These would have been found, presumably, near the place of the challenge.
“We have no time to concern ourselves with such things,” said Abrogastes.